


the slow road

by hapan



Category: Feverwake - Victoria Lee
Genre: Forehead Kisses, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapan/pseuds/hapan
Summary: Dara never wakes up screaming.He rarely wakes up at all, actually, when he’s having a nightmare. There’s no thrashing- he barely tosses and turns. It takes Noam an embarrassingly long time to even realise that there’s a problem, that the clenched teeth and quiet whimpers are signs of a bigger issue.“What should I do?” he asks eventually, after a particularly bad night(Or: Love can't heal all wounds, but it can hold your hand while you're working on it)





	the slow road

Dara never wakes up screaming.

He rarely wakes up at all, actually, when he’s having a nightmare. There’s no thrashing- he barely tosses and turns. It takes Noam an embarrassingly long time to even realise that there’s a problem, that the clenched teeth and quiet whimpers are signs of a bigger issue.

“What should I do?” he asks eventually, after a particularly bad night, Dara’s _no, please_ beating a tattoo into his skull. “When you’re having a nightmare. Shitty sleep, whatever.”

And Dara stares at him like he’d just grown a second head, jaw winding so tight it’s a wonder he gets the words out at all. “I don’t need you to baby me.”

Irritation sparks in the knot of tension that’s been fucking up his neck for days now, but Noam - barely - bites his tongue on the sharp response that leaps up his throat. Dara’s grim smile says he heard it anyway, and Noam takes a second to bury his face in his hands and just - breathe.

“Sorry,” Dara says, and it sounds like he means it. That might be worse. 

“Don’t need you to apologise,” Noam mumbles. “Just want to know what you need. How I can help.”

There’s a pause, and then a hand settles at the sliver of skin between his hairline and the collar of his shirt, Dara’s thumb digging into the precise place to turn him boneless, electricity sparking down his nerves and making him think of magic. How he ended up being the one getting comforted, he’s not sure. Dara’s an expert of turning the tables like that, of wriggling away from anything that resembles an emotional confrontation.

Most of the time, Noam recognises it for the shitty coping mechanism it is. Sometimes, though--

Sometimes he thinks of how easy it would be to just let it go. And then he catches that grim smile twist tighter at the corners, and hates himself for it.

 _I love you_ , he thinks. Clear, concise, and the smile drops right away, Dara’s face carefully blank. The strength in his hand falls too, taken over by a tremble instead. Energy skitters down his backbone, the promise of something. _And I’m not going anywhere_.

He waits, breathless, for Dara to leave him. Knows that Dara can hear the worry, can hear every prideful and petty part of him, all of his fears and frustrations. Knows that Dara loves him anyway, hopes that that’s enough.

A shuddering sigh brushes his cheek. Off to the side of him, Dara tips forward until his forehead pushes into Noam’s shoulder, palm flat against the knobs of his spine.

“I don’t know, Noam,” and his voice is small, uncertain, scared. Noam can’t read minds, but he doesn’t need magic to know that each word comes like pulling teeth to Dara, who is relearning how to show weakness instead of burying it.

He threads gentle fingers through Dara’s hair. A caress, an anchor. Presses his lips to the crown of Dara’s head, closing his eyes.

“That’s fine. That’s - okay, so I’ll try waking you up or something. We’ll see if that helps. Just don’t smack me in the face for it if it doesn’t, okay?”

He winces immediately, _domestic violence jokes, way to go Alvaro_ , but the huff of Dara’s laugh his warm against his arm.

“No promises.”

 


End file.
